a bit gay
by fittedhatsandacaralarm
Summary: tony couldn't remember; he just knew he wanted to kiss maxxie again—everywhere. / taxxie oneshot.


**[AN: I'm not really sure where this came from, or where it's going, but…]**

Tony, with one long, last look at his name—_his_ name, that _he'd_ written, after six months of hard, frustrating work—set down Maxxie's pen.

"You did it, mate! I can't believe you actually did it!" Maxxie said excitedly. The two hugged tightly, Tony sneaking a glance at the sunlight filtering in through Maxxie's orange curtains. This all felt so…right. So, what the hell? It seemed like regular old Tony Stonem was coming back.

With that final thought, for the third time, Tony pressed his chapped pink lips to Maxxie. It took a few moments before Maxxie kissed him back, and then it seemed like the next second Maxxie had jumped away from him, looking shocked and just a tad bit confused—or was it amused? Tony couldn't remember; he just knew he wanted to kiss Maxxie again—_every_where.

"What the fuck, mate?" Maxxie yelled loudly, his arms held out to either side of him in an accusatory pose.

His face emotionless, as per usual, Tony just looked at Maxxie, and then said quietly, "I'm sorry. I suppose I should just go out, and never come back in." With a sigh, Tony rose from his spot at Maxxie's desk and almost robotically crossed the room to the door.

It was a few minutes before Maxxie heard the front door to his apartment slam shut, and Tony was gone.

-:-

"What was I thinking, Effy?" Tony asked later on in the night, when he and Effy were sitting at his desk in his room, trying to write—again. It seemed like he couldn't quite get it again. What was wrong with him? He'd gotten it earlier; why couldn't he get it again?

"I don't know. Try again," his younger sister commanded and pointed at the pen by his hand. He awkwardly picked it up and tried writing his name again. Nothing. _To—_The 'n' was an awkward, angry slash of ink across the page, made by an involuntary jerk of his wrist. Frustrated, Tony ripped away the ruined page and began on the next.

_Maxxie._

He'd gotten it! He'd gotten it again!

"Oh, good," Effy said absently with a glance at her nails.

_Oli—_

As the second line of the 'v' created another furious slash, Tony made a grunt of frustration. He wasn't just frustrated at his inability to write again; he couldn't stand the sexual frustration he'd caused himself at Maxxie's, bubbling up inside him. He thought he might burst.

"Effy, can you just go?" Tony asked suddenly, turning awkwardly to face his sister. Everything he did was awkward. His body didn't work properly anymore, let alone his hands. For fuck's sake, even his friends didn't want to hang out with him. His sister was just doing it under her parents' orders.

Plus, he thought he might get to practicing using his hands again by a good wank.

Effy, with a roll of her eyes, stalked out of the room; probably off to prepare for some party.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, he wasn't really counting, Tony made his way down the stairs and washed his hands—just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Who would be coming to his house at this time of night? The only people he knew of who were out this late were probably at a party.

-:-

Maxxie's Point Of View

It was fucking freezing! Why couldn't that tit just let me inside? No, he had to stand in the doorway for a good fucking ten minutes and gape. Now, I'm like a leech to him, his warmth. Damn it, why did I even come here? It was a terrible idea!

"Maxxie? Do you want me to ask Effy to make you some tea?" Tony asked, stiffly sitting by my side, heat emanating from him. My teeth were chattering; it was bloody cold outside, regardless of it being only September. It's not like I minded being so close to To—Oh, bloody hell! Stop it with the dirty thoughts, Maxxie!

"No, I'm fine, mate," I mumbled, rubbing my hands together. I felt Tony's stare burn at my hands, and I quickly buried them in my pockets; I'd let myself forget he wasn't fully returned to his prior health. I awkwardly watched as he stiffly tried—and failed—to rub his hands together. Taking them in mine, I quickly did it for him. He still had a look of pure frustration on his face.

"I wrote your name earlier," Tony said suddenly, his hands back at his sides. It took me a few moments to process what he'd said, and then a grin broke out on my face.

"Really? That's bloody fantastic. See, you're getting bet- Tony. Tony, what are you doing?"

And then there was a very hot, very wet tongue in my mouth, and hands _every_where.

It was only a matter of time before we were stumbling up the staircase, crashing into Tony's room, tumbling on his bed, clothes discarded, tongues and lips and hands on everything.

I surely wasn't the first in Tony Stonem's bed, and I was most definitely not going to be the last.


End file.
